


Welcome to the Neighborhood

by LeFay_Strent



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, M/M, if this doesn't make you laugh then I have failed, logan is a confused nerd, remy just wants all the tea, roman kinda likes it, virgil has never been more extra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2019-10-04 23:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeFay_Strent/pseuds/LeFay_Strent
Summary: Virgil's really bad at peopling, or so his new neighbors find out.





	1. Chapter 1

On the day the new neighbors moved in, Virgil took it upon himself to sit on the front porch and watch while munching on a bag of Doritos. Half of it was to get the tea on whoever they were. The other half was just Virgil glaring at these people who dared to move in next door.

Two men got out of the moving van. Virgil observed them from where he sat comfortably, feet propped up on the porch railing. He reached down beside his chair to pick up a walkie talkie.

“Sandman, I see two white dudes, over,” Virgil informed. The walkie talkie crackled before a sassy voice replied.

“ _Copy that, Dracula. But are they cute, over.”_

“Standby.”

Virgil shoved a handful of chips in his mouth and squinted his emo eyes at the men. They were standing by the truck, conversing before they would begin unloading. One of them Virgil swore looked exactly like an elementary school teacher he had well over a decade ago, thus proving the existence of vampires. The other man looked like God spent a little too much time on him.

Virgil swallowed and lifted the walkie talkie again. “Subject number one looks like he can and will give you detention. Subject number two looks like he just single-handedly stopped a medieval rebellion—oh shit, he just smiled and I think an angel cried. Uh, over.”

“ _Daaamn_ ,” the other replied emphatically.

“Sandman, I think they’ve spotted me, over.”

The men were looking at him now, no doubt unable to comprehend his dark and angsty exterior. The guy not wearing glasses, subject number two, offered a friendly wave.

“Subject number two just waved at me. What should I do, over.”

“ _Throw a Dorito at them._ ”

Virgil lobbed a chip over the railing. It didn’t even make it close to the two men, but they watched the effort with blank faces.

“Virgil used confusion. Very effective, over.”

Laughter erupted on the other end of the walkie. “ _Gurl, you actually did it, I can’t even!_ ”

Subject number two stepped a few paces closer to call out, “Did you just throw a chip at us?”

“Yeah?” Virgil called back.

“. . . why did you throw a chip at us?”

“Well I wasn’t going to throw my walkie talkie,” he responded, then muttering to himself, “obviously.”

For some reason, that answer seemed to confuse subject number two further. He looked over his shoulder. The immortal school teacher stared on in contemplation. He straightened his tie and glasses and strode past subject number two, stopping on the other side of the porch railing.

“I do believe introductions are in order,” he said, all business-like. Virgil suddenly got the daunting sensation that he was in a job interview, one where he wasn’t going to get a call back. “My name is Logan. And this is my roommate, Roman. It appears that we are going to be neighbors for some time.”

“I’m sorry, but a chip?” subject number two—nay, Roman asked again, coming to stand by Logan.

“The voices told me to do it,” Virgil explained. Ignoring their twin looks of bemusement, Virgil stared them dead in the eyes while holding the walkie talkie up to his mouth. “Sandman, subjects have approached. Introductions are being initiated, over.”

“ _HEY BABES!!!_ ” the thirsty hoe screamed over the walkie.

“And that would be?” Logan inquired, looking like he was trying very hard at keeping his serious composure.

Virgil shrugged. “Just my roommate.” He shoved another handful of Doritos in his mouth, crunching them like the bones of his enemies.

Roman coughed awkwardly. “So, do you always watch your new neighbors move in from the comfort of your porch with a walkie?”

“Nuh, sometimes I have binoculars.”

“. . .”

“Dude, that was a joke. You can laugh.”

Roman chuckled in a way that reminded Virgil of Thanksgiving dinners with his family asking if he had a girlfriend yet because they didn’t know he was gay. Uncomfortable.

Starting to feel a wee bit self-conscious, Virgil tried again, “I’m sorry, I suck at peopling. Just ask my roommate. Hey Sandman, help a guy out and tell our neighbors how much I suck at peopling, over.”

“ _Oh yeah, Virgil sucks at people_ ,” the walkie crackled. “ _Especially if they’re cute boys._ ”

Virgil face-palmed. To his embarrassment, he heard Roman laugh.

“Sandman, buddy, can you not, over.”

“ _Never_.”

“Then perish,” Virgil said, dropping the walkie in the Doritos bag on his lap. He resolutely pretended that the interaction did not happen. “So yeah, I’m Virgil. Friends call me Virge. Sagittarius. Work at the library. That’s about it.”

“Wonderful! I myself am a scriptwriter,” Roman declared, smiling so bright that his teeth did the movie-star twinkle. “I am also a Gemini.”

They turned to Logan. His eye twitched subtly. “Not that I am entirely sure what our astrological signs have to do with anything, but I would fall under the Scorpio sign. I teach for a living.”

Virgil stopped breathing. “Teach where?”

“I’ll be teaching at the public elementary in town.”

Virgil snatched the walkie out of the chip bag. “Sandman, how are our stores of garlic and holy water, over.”

“ _You told me to perish and then expect me to do something for you? Not on my Christian Minecraft server._ ”

“Remy!”

“ _Bye Felicia!_ ”

With his backup not responding, Virgil could only improvise. He yeeted the Doritos bag at Logan’s face, yelling, “The power of Christ compels you!” before booking it into the house and locking the door.

Meanwhile, Logan brushed all of the spilled chips off of him, more than a little annoyed. “From the context, I assume he somehow thought me to be a vampire, but other than that I don’t even remotely understand what just happened.”

Roman laughed his ass off. “I don’t know, it was pretty funny. I think I like this guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was wild. I had no real plan for this, just started writing and let my muse run rampant. I didn't even plan for a walkie talkie, I just threw it in there randomly and kept going with it. And at some point I thought I'd throw in Patton as a wandering milkman or mailman or some other sort of man who wanders by daily and frequently witnesses Virgil's bizarre antics, but that ended up never happening. At some point I kept expecting Remy to come out of the house, but he never did either. Oh yeah, if you didn't suspect it already, Remy was totally in the house the whole time. He was just too lazy to get out of bed, but still wanted to hear the tea. Why they couldn't have conversed over their phones is a mystery.


	2. Chapter 2

Early one morning before the sun had yet to rise, Virgil was lounging on the roof munching on some Cheetos.

“How did you even get up there?”

Virgil most definitely did _not_ yelp. He let out a manly grunt of surprise at the figure on the ground who managed to sneak up on him. It was one of the new neighbors, Roman. He wore shorts, sneakers, and a tank top, looking like he was about to go for a morning jog.

He also stood there grinning, and Virgil didn’t think he imagined the movie star twinkle that came with it.

Virgil slowly pointed a finger at him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Sneak up on me. People die that way.”

Roman threw back his head and laughed. It annoyed Virgil so he tossed a Cheeto at his stupid perfect face. Roman batted the projectile away easily.

“Do you always sit around eating chips?” Roman asked benignly.

Virgil shrugged, frowning down into his nearly empty bag. When did that happen? “Nah, when I’m in the backyard I eat Oreos.”

“Of course,” Roman nodded sagely. “Where else would one eat Oreos?”

“Exactly. You so get me.”

Roman watched him for a moment as he upended the bag to pour the rest of the chips into his mouth. “So why the roof?”

Virgil swallowed his mouthful. “I thought my gargoyle aesthetic was pretty self-explanatory, but I guess not.”

“Gargoyle?”

“I’m a gothic gay disaster. Is there any other reason someone like me would be chilling on a roof other than to emulate a gargoyle?”

“When it comes to you, I’m finding that there are infinite possibilities to the reasons why you do things and none of them I would have ever guessed.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. He probably would have appeared more threatening without the cheesy crumbs littering his mouth, but whatever. It was all about the eyes yo. “I can’t tell if that was an insult or a compliment.”

With a flourish, Roman straightened and gestured to himself. “Coming from a writer such as myself? Yes, it was most definitely a compliment.”

“Hm,” Virgil hummed noncommittally. He balled up the chip bag, relishing in the sound of the plastic crumbling. He threw a leg over the roof’s edge to hang in the air casually.

The chill in the air nipped at his cheeks. Had he not been dressed in his usual hoodie, it’d probably be cold. He wondered if Roman was cold, standing down there in shorts and no sleeves. He didn’t look cold, expression one of interest as he was content to stand there.

Virgil wanted to ask him about his work, what kind of things he wrote, because truthfully Virgil would have took one look at him and never thought ‘writer’. Instead, he blurted, “Weren’t you going to go, like, do jock stuff?”

“I was, but then I found a cute little kitten stuck up on a roof,” Roman said with a smile so sweet that his eyes smiled too. “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant cute little gargoyle.”

“Damn right I am,” Virgil said confidently, not feeling confident in the slightest, but Roman didn’t have to know that. As it was, Virgil called on the powers of God and anime to will away any inkling of a blush that might dare to tinge his corpse pale cheeks. He didn’t exactly prepare to be flirted with this morning by his hot neighbor.

Oh God.

Wait.

. . . was his hot neighbor actually flirting with him?

Okay, okay Virgil. Don’t be a dweeb. It’s not like you’re so socially repressed that you barely leave the house and work from home and nobody has flirted with you since high school except that that love letter wasn’t actually supposed to go in your locker in the first place and you didn’t realize until _after_ you asked them out, talk about childhood trauma, yeesh—

“Virgil?” Roman asked.

He snapped violently out of his memories, responding too loudly, “Yeah! I’m here!” And really? ‘I’m here?’ Virgil briefly contemplated whether or not Roman would be alarmed if he tried to choke himself on the balled up Cheeto bag.

“I was just going to ask if you made a habit of sitting on the roof every morning,” Roman inquired. “It’d be nice to see a friendly face before I head out on my morning runs.”

“Uh, yeah, I watch the sunrise every morning so—” He slapped a hand over his mouth. Oh fuck, he didn’t mean to say that.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “You watch the sunrise?” he asked, and yeah, it was time for Virgil to yeet himself from the roof.

“Uh, I mean,” he floundered for some response that didn’t make him look like the flowery sap he truly was. “I sit up on the roof every morning to glare at the sun.”

“To . . . glare at the sun?”

“Yeah, just in case he gets any bright ideas,” he punned without thinking and he deadass would have actually jumped from the roof after that if Roman hadn’t chuckled good-naturedly and rolled with it.

“Can’t have that, now can we? All of us mere mortals are indebted to you and your bravery.”

“Well, uh, yeah,” Virgil said and finger-gunned at him.

God help him, he couldn’t stop.

The sky had lightened by this point. The first sun rays pierced through the cool fog haunting the suburban streets. Roman glanced towards the backyard where the orange haze originated. In that moment, with the soft breeze lifting his wavy brown locks, Virgil wondered why on earth Roman had settled for being a scriptwriter and not an actor.

“You know . . .” Roman began, lips tugging up and eyes warming in the sun’s glow. “I like to ‘glare’ at the sunrise too, on occasion. It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

Virgil wasn’t sure why, but he felt the urge to hug his knees to his chest. “Um, yeah . . . It’s nice.”

Roman didn’t seem to mind his weird quirks. He didn’t belittle or laugh at him, nor did he run away. It was a lot more than what Virgil expected when he heard they were getting new neighbors.

“It’s a nice sight to see before you sleep,” Virgil admitted. “I usually go to bed afterwards.”

“Then surely you have the sweetest of dreams,” Roman smiled at him.

Virgil snorted and threw the crumbled up Cheeto bag at him. “Just because you’re a writer doesn’t give you an excuse to talk like a dork.”

“On the contrary, it gives me all the more reason!” he declared. “And honestly, darling, you must stop with the throwing of chip bags at people. Aren’t gargoyles supposed to be symbols of protection?”

“I’m protecting my sanity.”

Roman laughed in a carefree way that made Virgil want to smile too. However, the front door to Roman’s house opened and his roommate shuffled out. The bespectacled man looked ready to head out for work but paused upon seeing them.

“Oh, good, Virgil,” Logan called out.

Virgil stiffened. Never in his life had he wanted to be an actual gargoyle more than he did now, because currently he was unable to ward off the evil coming right for him.

“Virgil, I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” Logan said, stopping beside Roman.

“I’m sorry, my people need me, I must go,” Virgil said, moving to crawl to the other side of the roof.

“Wait, please, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong start—”

“What gave you that idea?”

“You threw a chip bag at my face.”

Roman placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “It’s a sign of affection really.”

Logan shook his head. “I only wanted to extend an invitation to you and your roommate to join us for dinner sometime, in the hopes that we can get better acquainted.”

“Or so you can lure us into your evil lair.”

“Virgil, I am not a vampire.”

“That’s just what a vampire would say!” Virgil hissed.

“Virgil, please.”

Virgil thrust out a finger to point at him accusingly. “If you’re not a vampire, I demand proof.”

“I . . .” Logan looked down at himself and then up at the sun shining directly on them. He glanced at Roman beseechingly.

“You heard the man,” Roman said with a teasing grin. “Prove it.”

The light of hope dulled in Logan’s eyes. “I know where you sleep at night, Prince.”

Roman’s eyes went comically wide. “Good Heavens, he’s out for blood! Is that a glimpse of fang I spy? Virgil, dearest, run now before it’s too late!”

“ _Roman!_ ” Logan surged forward but was a second too late. Roman had already fled, cackling down the sidewalk as he ran with Logan hot on his tail.

Virgil watched them go, contemplating whether or not he should take a bath before he hit the hay. From beside him, his walkie talkie crackled.

“ _Virgil, honey, did you eat the last of my Cheetos?_ ”

Virgil eyed the device and considered the benefits of living on the roof from now on.

“ _I know you’re on the roof. I can smell your guilt from here. I won’t hesitate bitch._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was telling my grandmother about this story yesterday and she said, "What if he eats different things depending on where he's at? If he's on the roof? Cheetos. The backyard? Oreos." So really, y'all can thank my grandma for inspiring me to continue. And somehow this ended up being prinxiety? I don't know how that happened, but I'm not complaining.
> 
> I'll just leave this open to continue whenever. Lord knows I need to work on my other wips.


	3. Chapter 3

Virgil had just slurped a big bite of food into his mouth when a voice startled him from behind.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks! It is the east and Juliet is the—OW THAT WAS MY FACE YOU HEATHEN!!!”

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO SNEAK UP ON ME YOU FUCKER!” Virgil seethed with rage born purely from fright.

Here he had been minding his own business on his own front porch, standing there with his back leaned against the railing. And Roman— the most illegally gorgeous dumbass to ever walk the face of the planet—had done the one thing that Virgil had warned him _not_ to do.

So it wasn’t Virgil’s fault he had decked him in the face. Not when the spilled remains of his beloved food splattered the wood of the porch at his feet. And he could deny all responsibility for the way Roman covered his nose, eyes squinted and tearing from pain.

Wait—oh shit, was that _blood_?

At first Roman seemed more preoccupied about whether or not his nose had broken. He stopped to stare down at Virgil’s feet, big brown eyes batting in a way that reminded Virgil of Bambi.

What kind of person punches Bambi?

“Is that . . . a can of green beans?” Roman asked in disbelief.

“Remy banned me from the chips,” Virgil replied weakly. He felt untethered from where his feet met the porch, like a wayward breeze could lift him up and drift him away. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten green beans on a Wednesday afternoon. It was more of a Saturday midnight snack thing. And here he was, still holding the fork in the shaking fist that had decked Bambi in the face.

Oh god, ohgodohgodohgod, he could have stabbed the idiot in the face. He could have _killed_ Bambi!

Instantly the silverware fell from his limp fingers. Roman watched dumbly as it clattered to the floor, but Virgil didn’t care about any of that. He lurched around the railing at sonic speed and his hands were fluttering uselessly in the air with all the worried agitation of a humming bird mixed with a mother bear (no Virgil’s mind was not processing things properly at the moment).

“ _Are you sorry?!_ ” Virgil almost screamed at him. Oh wait, he actually did scream at him.

Roman reeled back—oh no no no, did he think Virgil was going to assault him again? Did he hate him now? Was he going to call the police and Virgil would have to spend the rest of his existence in a prison cell where he would never eat another green bean or Dorito ever again in his miserable cursed life???

_This is why you don’t sneak up on people!_

“What? Sorry? Yes?” Roman stammered out as fast as he could, looking for a moment to be just as overwhelmed as Virgil.

“Shit, wait, no. I didn’t mean that,” Virgil rushed to say desperately, urged on by the inner mantra in his head: _please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me_. “I was trying to ask if you’re okay but say sorry at the same time, but it all came out at once, and I’m so fucking sorry dude. I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“Virgil, slow down,” Roman said, as if Virgil really had any power over the frantic tribal beat of his heart. “It’s uh—it’s not that bad.”

Roman was bleeding in Virgil’s front yard. What part of this constituted as _not that bad_?

Spurred by the inexplicable need to fix this, Virgil’s hands finally made contact with the sleeves of Roman’s leather jacket. He tugged him up the porch, forgetting he should really probably ask for permission for such a thing but the _FIX THIS_ in his mind was really having a swell ole time jackhammering away in his head.

Roman protested but not in a way that said he had a problem being dragged into Virgil’s house (and if Virgil was thinking rationally at the moment, he’d probably freak out over his handsome neighbor seeing the inside of his house for the first time, but again, _FIX THIS_ ). He seemed more concerned with convincing Virgil that this wasn’t a big deal.

“I was more shocked than hurt, really. Believe me, I’ve been in far worse brawls than this.”

“You’re _bleeding_ ,” Virgil hissed.

“Oh that? My nose is just crying red tears because of how amazing I am!”

Virgil laughed but he also kind of wanted to cry too so he didn’t know how to emotion right now. He let Roman go by the kitchen sink and snatched a clean dishcloth from the adjacent cabinet and placed it under Roman’s nose. Roman took over to staunch the bleeding while Virgil left him there to rummage in the freezer. He pulled out two bags.

“Fries or mixed vegetables?” Virgil asked, because on some level of his consciousness the answer really seemed important in that instance. He held them up on display for Roman to decide. 

The bleeding man stood there bewildered (Why was he looking at Virgil like that? Did he still think he was going to get hit again?). He glanced between the two frozen foods for a moment before pointing at the vegetables.

“Let’s go with that one,” he said. “It’s smaller.”

“Y-yeah,” Virgil agreed. He tossed the fries onto the counter carelessly and offered the vegetables at a healthy arms-length away. The embarrassment of man-handling Roman into his home had caught up to him.

Roman plucked the bag from his hand. With nothing left to hold, Virgil fiddled with the zipper on the arm of his hoodie. He wondered if Roman regretted moving in next door. God, he couldn’t even look up from the floor at this point. How pathetic was he?

“Thank you, Virgil,” Roman said quietly.

“For punching you in the face?” Virgil said with a snort. He slapped a hand over his mouth. The fiddling on his zipper increased.

“No, my little storm cloud.” Virgil nearly choked upon hearing the nickname. He stared wide-eyed at Roman. “You did warn me to announce my presence better. But when I saw you standing there . . .” Roman lowered the reddened cloth, and sure there was a little more red smudged on his face but the smile he wore was sincere. The playfulness in his eyes a little too much for Virgil to handle right now. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well then.” Virgil scratched at his neck and crossed his arms, shoulders hitched up. “I’m still sorry,” was what he meant to say. “Serves you right then,” is what he actually said.

_Mouth . . . could you just cooperate for once in my life? Sincerely, Virgil._

Roman chuckled and placed the frozen bag gently against the bridge of his nose. “I suppose that’s fair. Would you give me the chance to make it up to you?”

Virgil’s already distressed brain short circuited because _what the absolute flying fuck did that mean_???

Roman stood there, tending to his face, body language and any discernable facial features unreadable. Something lodged in Virgil’s throat and he couldn’t quite swallow right. His overanalytical thoughts bounced around at the speed of _AHHHH_ as he considered what ‘make it up to you’ meant in this context.

If Virgil’s life were a porno—no, do not go past Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Do not finish that thought because honestly? This was real life, and knowing Virgil’s luck Roman was far more likely to beat him up. A nose for a nose, as it were.

“Virgil?” Roman called his attention, which only made Virgil lose more of his focus. Roman was waiting for a response to some offer that Virgil didn’t know what he would be agreeing or denying, so how was he supposed to answer? And whoa, were the walls closing in or what?

The door to Remy’s bedroom opened. He slunk out with all the grace of a foraging raccoon, wearing a black silk robe and hair curlers, obviously having just woken up. He took a moment too long to spot their neighbor standing in the kitchen.

Roman smiled pleasantly. “Hello—”

Remy screeched and dove back into his room, door slamming shut.

“. . . is he okay?” Roman asked Virgil.

“GURL!” Remy shouted from behind the door, and Virgil knew without a doubt that the accusing tone was addressed towards him. “I don’t even have my face on! Like give a warning!”

“Spoiler alert, Remy. We have company.”

“BITCH I KNOW!”

“Don’t worry about him,” Virgil told his neighbor. “He just came with the house.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, this is _my_ house,” Remy said, popping his head back out for a moment, shades in place this time. “ _You’re_ the one who showed up sniffing around one day and I made the mistake of feeding.”

He slammed the door again.

“He’s not wrong.” Virgil shrugged.

“I see.” Roman nodded. He didn’t seem freaked out by the exchange, curious and amused if anything.

Truthfully, Virgil was still internally pulling his hair out in mortification over the last five minutes, but Remy’s interruption had offered a nice reprieve, enough for Virgil to take a breath and steel his nerves.

“What did you mean?” Virgil blurted before he could stop himself. Roman just looked at him, so he rambled on. “Earlier, before Remy—you were saying something?”

Roman brightened. He lowered the bag from his face to give Virgil an unobscured view of his hopeful expression. “Even when I caused you distress, you patched my wounds, and for that I am grateful. I’d like to make it up to you, if you’d allow me the honor?”

Why did he have to talk so weird? Why did he feel like he had to make up for anything in the first place? Why couldn’t Virgil stop fidgeting with his jacket sleeve again?

“Make it up how?” he asked.

“Dinner?” Roman asked, and the emo’s dead heart sputtered and said _help me_. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent cook. You could come over tomorrow night and we could get to know each other better. You could bring Remy along if you’d like.”

Would it be too dramatic to faint right now? Probably. If he had any cool points after today, he needed to stubbornly hold on to his consciousness. Throwing in the inclusion of his roommate aside, a devastatingly handsome man (who he had just punched) had asked him over for dinner. A dinner that he would cook. Of course he also knew how to cook on top of all his other attractive qualities.

…ya know on one hand, if what he got out of it was having a cute guy ask him over, maybe Virgil should punch people more often?

On the other hand, _a cute guy was asking him over for dinner what was he supposed to say???_

“Sure,” Virgil answered automatically.

_WHY DID HE JUST SAY THAT?_

“Wonderful!” Roman beamed at him. “I’m certain Logan and I will make it the best dinner you’ve ever had.”

Virgil was suddenly hit with the full force of remembering that Roman did not live alone.

He lived with Logan.

Logan, the evil vampiric elementary school teacher.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn't—

_FIX THIS!_

“Sounds great,” Virgil said, grimacing while he imagined astral projecting outside of his body just so he could hit himself with a baseball bat. “What time am I going to die—I mean, what time should I come by?”

If Roman noticed the slip up, he didn’t comment. Just grinned all the wider. “Let’s say around six?”

“Cool.”

He had less than twenty-four hours to live.

But hey, at least he could have Remy die with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Roman goes home wearing a dreamy expression.
> 
> Logan asks what caused such a state and Roman gives a heartfelt sigh.
> 
> "Virgil punched me in the face."
> 
> "Roman, why are you smiling, I'm worried."


	4. Chapter 4

“Well?” Virgil asked, coming out of his bedroom. “How do I look?”

Remy looked up from his phone and tilted his head at the sight of him. “. . . you look like you but with a tie.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You look like you’re ready for jury duty.”

Virgil snorted. “As if I’d ever be emotionally stable for jury duty.”

He decided to nix the tie. Throwing it off to land on the kitchen counter, he glanced at the clock on the microwave.

 _It’s time_.

Virgil gnawed on his fingernails. Six o’clock, the time Roman designated for dinner, was fast approaching, and Virgil felt it within the depths of his soul that he was not ready. But then, who was ever truly ready to see what lies beyond the sweet void of death? Because that was surely what would come of tonight.

“ _Nasty_!” Remy snapped and slapped at Virgil’s hand with a rolled-up _People_ magazine. “I am not about to stand here and watch you eat your cuticles like a nasty little gremlin. No ma’am.”

“I can’t help it!” Virgil retorted. He shoved his hands in his hoodie’s pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted again. “And I prefer the term _goblin_.” He had a goblin core trash aesthetic and he was _proud_ , damn it!

Remy lowered his shades just to give him the full affect of his eye roll. “Just the other day you were telling Pretty Boy you were a _gargoyle_.”

Virgil could feel his face heating. More than that, he looked upon his roommate in a newfound terror. “How did you even know about that?”

“It’s the shades,” he said with a smirk, tapping at the rim of a lens. “I dim my sight to make my hearing stronger.”

Virgil scowled and stomped away towards the front door. “You’re bullshit. Are you ready or not?”

Remy pulled up his necklace chain to reveal the silver cross that’d been hidden under the neck of his shirt. “Momma always told me to wear protection.”

“First of all, gross. Second of all, got your gun?”

Remy pulled out a small water pistol from where it’d been hidden at his back in the waistband of his jeans. His leather jacket provided enough coverage so it wouldn’t be visible.

“Alright, crosses and holy water check. You got your playlist ready?”

“Hymns of our lord and savior have blessed my phone,” Remy answered.

They couldn’t find a Bible so this was the next best thing. If Logan got fangy tonight, they’d just blare gospel tunes at him.

Yes this was a good plan, shut up.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Virgil said and stepped outside before he lost his nerve. The trek to their neighbors’ house was far too short and didn’t give him enough time to reconsider his poor life choices and change his mind. A pity really.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Unless my phone is on one percent. Then you’ll catch me cryin’ in the club.”

“Remy, focus,” Virgil pleaded as they stood outside their neighbor’s house. He was trying to work himself up to ringing the doorbell.

“Sorry, can’t hear you, I don’t have my shades on.”

 There were a lot of things Virgil wanted to say to that, but before any of them could leave his mouth, the door flew open.

And for the record, Virgil did _not_ jump. Or cling to Remy’s arm. So put that out of your heads in case you were thinking that.

“Good neighbors, welcome! I’m glad you could make it!” Roman greeted them, his dramatic personality making him seem twice as large and intimidating in the moment of Virgil’s panic. Plus Roman was hot no matter what the hour, so it was physically impossible for Virgil to ever calm down around him.

“How’d you even know we were out here?” Virgil demanded. “I didn’t even knock!”

“Windows exist, Virgey baby,” Remy said, and Virgil was very tempted to pull out his own water pistol and shoot him.

Roman nodded in agreement. “We saw you walking up. Come on in, dinner’s almost ready.”

Virgil’s legs forgot how to walk towards danger, or maybe that was the common sense finally having its way with him. But luckily Remy threw an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and dragged him inside.

“Thanks cutie! I hope dinner looks as delicious as those pants look on you. Maroon is _so_ your color.”

Five seconds in, Virgil already wanted to ditch Remy. Like, if the zombie apocalypse broke out right now, and both Virgil and Remy were running away from a hoard of flesh-eating dead people, Virgil would trip him. He really would.

The inside of the house turned out to be a lot less . . . gothic horror than what Virgil expected. There were no cobwebs in the ceiling corners, no bats hanging around, no coffin that he could see. Then again, they’d only moved in a couple of weeks ago. Maybe the house had yet to realize that a vampire inhabited it. It’d take awhile for the willow trees and looming iron gates to grow in the yard.

Virgil shook his head, not understanding his own train of thought. It was just a normal modern house really. The most suspicious thing was that there were no moving boxes to be seen. If it had been Virgil, it’d take him years to unpack everything.

“Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable,” Roman told them as he led them into the dining room. “Can I get you anything to drink? Tea? Wine? Soda?”

“Oooh, I’ll have wine!” Remy purred happily. Virgil shot him a look. “What? I’m like _the_ definition of a wine aunt.”

“Do you have any bottled water?” Virgil asked. Remy could let himself be poisoned for all he cared. He wouldn’t make that mistake.

“Sure we do! Anything you want, Dark Vader. Logan! Our guests require wine and water!” he shouted as he left the room, presumably to go off towards the kitchen. An indistinct muffled voice answered him in return at a much more normal volume.

Remy turned to Virgil and fluttered his eyelashes. “Anything you want, _Dark Vader_ ~.”

Virgil elbowed him in the side. “He didn’t say it flirty like that.”

“It was in the eyes, babe. He’s barely looked at me since we’ve been here.”

“We’ve barely been here,” Virgil muttered. He couldn’t deny the way his heart stuttered at that though.

“Puh-lease. We’ve been here long enough for him to adopt the whipped-puppy look. Like what did you even do to him?”

“I punched him in the face.”

Remy gave a low whistle. “Okay, was anybody going to tell me all I had to do to get cute boys to notice me is punch them in the face, or was I just supposed to find that out in Dracula’s lair?”

Virgil didn’t answer. He was too busy debating whether or not it was too early in the evening to hide in the hood of his jacket.

Roman came back shortly after, not alone this time. Logan trailed behind, both of them laden with glasses and dishes.

“Welcome to our home,” Logan told them politely, smiling closed-lipped so that he wouldn’t show his fangs. “Did Roman tell you what we have prepared for you tonight?”

“No he hasn’t, but I’m sure he would if Virgil asked nicely,” Remy said, that purr back in his voice. He winced as Virgil kicked him under the table. “Or I can ask. What’s for dinner, babes?”

Roman finished sitting down wine glasses for everyone except Virgil. He placed a cold water bottle beside the bowl Logan had already laid in front of him. From the looks of it, it was a salad.

Clapping his now-free hands together, Roman beamed at them. “For our entrée, we’ll start with a citrus based salad. Afterwards, the main course is lasagna with spicy Italian, fennel-flavored sausage. And we’ll leave desert as a surprise.” As he said the last part, he winked at Virgil and his weak gay heart exploded.

“How’s that sound, Virge?” Remy asked wearing a Cheshire cat grin.

“Cool,” Virgil squeaked and downed half his water in one gulp.

“Satisfactory,” Logan said. He didn’t even sound robotic when he said it. In fact, he seemed a little too pleased to have them in his evil clutches. Virgil wondered if he planned to drain them dry before or after desert.

Everyone dug into the salad.

It had oranges in it.

Virgil wasn’t really a cook, but were salads supposed to have oranges in them? And what were cashews doing in there? Where was the lettuce? There was no lettuce, only like, parsley shit on top. God, what was Virgil doing here eating a lettuce-less salad?

“Is that bacon?” Virgil asked, pushing a strip of something dark red with his fork.

Remy put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, though he addressed their neighbors. “I’m sorry he’s so uncultured, but he really has come a long way since I found him foraging in my trash bins and took him in.”

Virgil sent a silent prayer that Remy would choke on the not-bacon slices.

“Have you never eaten beets before, Virgil?” Logan asked, and Virgil honestly couldn’t tell if he was being condescending or not.

“So what?” Virgil shot back, ducking his head. He kinda figured it wasn’t bacon at least. That was why he asked, right? They could give him _some_ credit.

“You’re defensive. I apologize. Not everyone has eaten beets before.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Roman assured him. “I hadn’t even tried them until Point Dexter here took me under his culinary wing.”

“I don’t have wings.”

“He used to be an aspiring chef. Almost went to school for it.”

“When, in the seventies? Twenties?” Virgil asked with narrowed eyes.

Logan adjusted his glasses and gave a raised brow as if he knew exactly what Virgil was really asking. “If you must know, I graduated from college in twenty-twelve.”

“How many times have you graduated from college?”

“Only once, Virgil. But I do hope that will change later in life. I rather enjoy learning.”

Virgil skewered one of the strips of not-bacon and shoved it in his mouth while staring Logan dead in the eye. Logan blinked at him in a way that showed his discomfort yet he was too stubborn to back down. There were practically anime electrical charges sparking between them.

Meanwhile, Virgil was just trying really hard to keep a straight face and not spit out the beet. He liked to think of himself as a classic omnivore. Stick something edible in front of him? He’d eat it. But whatever he’d just put in his mouth tasted like red wine solidified and then stored in the ground until Farmer John decided to dig it up a decade later and sell it at the market. It didn’t even taste like it’d been washed, as if the grains of soil clung to it, creating a gritty texture.

But let it be known, Virgil is not a pussy. He ate that shit and went back for seconds.

“Virgil . . .” Roman began uncertainly. He had stopped eating his own salad. “Uh, you don’t have to actually eat it if you don’t like it.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Darling, you’re crying.”

“Nah, I just think my eyes are allergic.”

“Your eyes? Your eyes are allergic?” Logan asked incredulously.

“Yeah, must be all the pollen in these beets.”

Remy snickered as he nibbled on an orange slice. At least someone understood his weird brand of humor. Logan looked ready to throw hands.

“Yes, it must be the pollen.” Roman nodded sagely. Logan glared at him, affronted that he would join in on the nonsense.

“There _is_ no pollen in beets, what are you all talking about?”

“ _Beets_ me,” Virgil said without thinking and immediately covered his face afterwards.

And then, by some miracle, Roman joined in. “Now Logan, if you can’t appreciate what’s going on, you can just _beet_ it.”

“Are you honestly punning at the dinner table right now?” Logan asked.

“Disgusting, ain’t it?” Remy asked. He drew the line at puns.

Logan perked up at having a brother in arms for the war on puns. They began swapping stories of their roommates’ worst crimes against the English language with their pun usage. Virgil realized two things in that moment. One, he apparently punned more than he thought he did. Two, he had lost Remy to the charismatic sways of the Dark Lord.

“ _Traitor_ ,” Virgil hissed under his breath.

Remy smirked in a way that said, “He might suck blood, but at least he doesn’t pun.”

With no one to trust, Virgil excused himself to the bathroom to clean up. He didn’t want to wear the ‘drowned racoon’ look all night. The tear streaks had not been kind on his eyeshadow, and although he gave his most valiant effort, there were still unseemly smudges across his cheeks.

“It’s not too late to drown yourself in the toilet,” he offered his reflection.

His reflection stared him into submission and told him, “Stop being a little beta bitch and go back out there and die like a man.”

Virgil didn’t want to die like a man. He wanted to die alone in the safety of his bedroom, MCR blasting to the max on his stereo, and a piece of half-eaten cake stuck in his mouth. Virgil was a simple man with simple needs. He didn’t think this was too much to ask for.

Growling at himself, he pulled up his big boy pants and left the bathroom. On the way back to the dining room, he had to pass by the kitchen. Inside, Logan was busy cleaning off a suspiciously red stain from the front of his shirt.

Alarm bells rang like fireworks blasting off from under your bed in the middle of the night because your mom said you weren’t old enough to play with them. The bed caught on fire. Everything caught on fire, and now you’re screaming because maybe Mommy was right and you should have listened to your last brain cell instead of kicking it off a cliff ‘This is Sparta!’ style.

“What did you do?” Virgil breathed out. Distantly, he could hear a hollow ringing in his ears, and maybe his heart was doing an unhealthy Irish tap dance in his chest, but there were more important matters to attend to.

“Oh, Virgil. Hello,” Logan greeted as if they were passing each other on the sidewalk. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to look surprised at being caught. “Just had a mishap is all.”

“What did you _do_?” Virgil demanded again, stronger this time because he wasn’t believing the bullshit spilling out from Dracula’s mouth. “Where’s Remy? What did you do to him?”

“Do to . . . What are you talking about?”

“The blood. That’s his blood. Don’t lie to me!”

“Virgil—” Logan started, setting aside the napkin he’d been using to pat the material and approaching Virgil with a hand raised.

With a shrill, panicked yell, Virgil pulled out his water pistol, promptly forgot how to use it, and chucked it at the demon with all his might. He had enough presence of mind to hear the _thunk_ as it made contact with Logan’s forehead. Everything after that was a blur.

And then Virgil hyperventilated so hard that he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To give credit where credit is due, that ending was inspired by ukaia_dorei who commented and said "since Virgil thinks Logan is a Vampire we do need a misunderstanding of spilled tomato juice down Logan's front at some point".


	5. Chapter 5

Virgil opened his eyes blearily. Through the haze of building awareness, he saw God’s gift to mankind.

“Oh, I’m dreaming,” Virgil murmured.

The image of Roman’s face hovering above his seemed surprised for a moment before grinning deviously. “Oh? Do you dream of me often?”

“I wish,” Virgil sighed. Usually Virgil had nightmares. Not even legitimately scary nightmares, just weird ones like the one he had last night where he caught a ride in a taxi with a Viking and a parrot. The parrot was the driver.

Virgil still had no idea why he woke up in a cold sweat, don’t ask.

“Mm, I’m sorry but I guess you’ll have to make do with reality then,” Roman teased. He brushed some of Virgil’s bangs back, and Virgil’s eyelids fluttered closed involuntarily at the sensation of warm fingers.

Damn, had he straight up died and gone to Heaven?

“I’ve brought some water. It’s important to stay hydrated after experiencing a panic attack,” said Logan, coming into view with a water bottle.

Wait, never mind, this was Hell.

Virgil bolted upright. Too fast, or so his spinning head told him. He clenched his eyes shut again.

“Careful, you were out for a bit,” Roman cautioned, and that must have been his hand rubbing at Virgil’s back, grounding him.

Oh for Christ’s sake, he’d been passed out with his head on Roman’s lap, hadn’t he? He’d fainted like a consumptive Victorian debutante when tuberculosis had been all the rage.

“You had a rather extreme reaction earlier,” Logan noted. “Do you know what caused it?”

“Musta been the miasma,” Virgil snickered. He rubbed around his tear ducts for a moment before opening his eyes. Roman and him were on the couch with Logan standing by them.

Remy sat carelessly on an armchair in a corner, legs thrown over the arm and on his phone.

Virgil bristled. “Are you seriously on your phone right now?”

“I’m not just on my phone,” Remy defended. “I’m _filming_ a masterpiece.” 

He was recording the whole thing.

After Virgil had been frightened to death that Remy had been hurt.

Virgil should maim him. He should cut off his head and skewer it on a pike and post it in Remy’s mother’s front yard, and when his mother came out wailing in agony, “Why have you forsaken my son?” Virgil would explain that it was because Remy had a _terminal case of **asshole**_.

“I know where you sleep at night,” Virgil threatened.

“Who said I sleep?”

Remy smiled prettily at him and Virgil had to actively remind himself that Remy paid the majority of the bills, he needed him alive.

“Virgil?” Logan recalled his attention. He held the water bottle out to Virgil.

Virgil eyed it and Logan suspiciously. It wasn’t even the fact that Logan was totally a vampire. Earlier, Virgil had thrown a fucking water gun at the dude’s face before passing out in his kitchen, and here he was being _nice_ and _calm_ about it.

There was even a red mark marring his forehead from where the gun hit.

“Thanks,” Virgil muttered and took the water bottle, more so out of social politeness than any real desire for water. You don’t say ‘no’ to a vampire you just assaulted with a water gun.

“Will you be alright?” Roman asked kindly. The hand that he _still_ had placed at Virgil’s back really wasn’t helping his anxiety either.

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil shrugged and sipped at the water. “Just gotta walk it off.”

“I . . . I’ve never had an attack like that myself, but is that how it works?”

“Yeah, it’s like a broken leg. Just gotta walk it off.”

Roman leaned his head back, eyes squinted and lips pursed, unable to form a sentence.

“Virgil was a dog in his past life,” Remy offered unhelpfully. “He likes his walks. Helps him release some of that built up _tension_.”

Virgil launched up to his feet, grateful for the lack of head spinning this time. “Annnd I’m leaving.”

“Wait, we didn’t even finish dinner,” Roman protested, rising as well. He seemed taken aback at Virgil’s sudden wish to depart and was grasping at straws to give him a reason to stay. Or maybe Virgil was just being a hopeful idiot that he hadn’t ruined everything.

Virgil smiled a smile that was more self-deprecating than anything. “No offence, I really appreciate dinner and all, but I think it’s best if I head home." 

Roman looked like he wanted to try to convince him, but Logan unexpectantly came to his rescue.

“He’s right, Roman. Virgil has just experienced a large amount of distress from his attack and is probably exhausted. It would be more beneficial for him to retire for the night in order to relax.” He turned to Virgil then. “However, it would be a shame for you and Remy to miss out on the dinner we prepared for you. If you’ll allow me to, I can prepare plates for you to take with you.”

“Oooh, yum, yes please,” Remy answered for the both of them.

“Then it’s decided.” Logan nodded and strolled off to the kitchen.

“Mm, is he always this eager to please?” Remy hummed, slipping his shades down a tad so he could watch Logan go. Virgil nearly gagged in reflex.

Roman laughed lightly. “While social adeptness is my forte between the two of us, I can’t deny that he tries his hardest. He really did want tonight to go well.”

“I’m sure he’s not the only one, hun.”

Virgil couldn’t focus enough to tell if Roman was blushing or not. He snapped his finger towards the kitchen.

“Go be a useful member of society for once in your life and make sure Dracula doesn’t poison the food.”

Usually Remy would be offended to the max, but he grinned and left his seat with all the grace of the cat who got the cream. “Virgey baby, if you wanted to be alone with prince charming, all ya had to do was ask.”

Virgil stood there ramrod straight, vision red and the potential for murder high. He couldn’t even find humor in hearing Remy enter the kitchen with a loud exclamation of, “So Teach, what’s your type, besides blood? Asking for a friend who might be a useless member of society and tragically single.”

Things were agonizingly quiet in the living room. Virgil didn’t even want to think what kind of expression Roman wore.

“You know . . . Logan didn’t actually poison the food.”

“I know that,” Virgil grumbled, lying through his teeth. “Remy’s just an ass.”

It was silent for a moment before Roman let out a chuckle. Pretty soon it turned into giggling. Virgil finally turned to stare at him with a raised brow, but Roman just covered his face with a hand and laughed harder.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll wait,” Virgil said, which made Roman snort through the laughter.

Maybe Roman was actually crazy. Was this the fatal flaw rearing its ugly head? Such a gorgeous man couldn’t be completely perfect, right? Virgil had seen stories like this, stories where someone ended up buried in the desert and it wasn’t the hot guy.

Virgil would still tap that regardless.

. . .

Virgil took a _very_ deep breath to purge the intrusive thought.

The intrusive thought gave him the middle finger.

“It’s just that—” Roman got out between the giggles, “I can’t believe you actually threw a water gun at Logan’s face.”

“Oh,” Virgil said and shuffled his feet. Roman was laughing at _him_. “Yeah, pretty pathetic, right?”

“Pathetic? Far from it! The way Logan described you throwing it at him was a thing of beauty. Like a lone soldier staring death in the face and refusing to budge. I would have paid to see it.”

“I . . . what else did he say?”

“Just you savagely screaming ‘Die Bitch!’ before passing out. Do you remember that part?”

Virgil in fact didn’t, but that sounded accurate.

“Now that’s epic,” Roman surmised. Virgil tried to pretend he wasn’t feeling a tingly floaty feeling in his chest. The way Roman smiled at him, his eyes twinkling—it made it hard to think of much else. “If anything you’re a wild cat, always hissing and throwing things at people.”

“I don’t always throw things at people.”

“You threw a Doritos bag at Logan when we first met.”

“I will not apologize for having a sense of self-preservation.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you,” Roman said, still smiling like Virgil brought excitement and light and whatever cheesy thing to his life.

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. “Well . . . great then.”

Roman reached out to touch Virgil’s elbow. “Despite everything, tonight was very enjoyable. And I hope that we can do this again sometime?”

Virgil’s mouth went ash-dry. Because holy fuck, what was Roman doing with his hand just lingering and shit right there? Doesn’t he know that Virgil is _GAY_? Why was he looking at Virgil like that? Standing too close, looking Adonis-level of attractive. Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ —

“Alright, everyone put your pants on, we’re back!” Remy announced. He sashayed back into the room holding a couple of foiled-covered plates.

Virgil teleported across the room to hide his burning face within his hoodie. When that wasn’t far enough, he just jumped out the window.

He opened it first of course. God, he wasn’t an animal, stop looking at him like that.

“Damn it, Virgil! You can’t just jump out the window every time you’re in an uncomfortable social situation!” Remy screamed.

 “He has a history of doing this?” Logan asked, but Virgil wasn’t sticking around to hear more.

“Eat a dick, eat a dick, eat a motherfucking dick~” Virgil angrily sang as he ran away.

Remy watched the darkling flee the scene, thoroughly unimpressed. “I swear I raised him better than this. He is a child. A man-child. The worst kind of child.”

“You raised him?” Logan asked to which Roman chuckled.

“Not literally, Specs. Obviously Remy’s not old enough.”

Remy raised a brow in challenge. “Oh, I’m older than ya think babe. I just moisturize.”

“Wait, did you really raise Virgil? I thought you two were roommates.”

“Well we totes are, but I took him in when he was like fourteen. Little bugger had run away from home and I found him digging through my trash.”

Remy saw how fast their faces switched to pity. Virgil would hate to see that if he was here. Logan went to open his mouth but Remy beat him to the punch.

“And no, I don’t know why he ran away. That’s his business. All I know is that I got an honest to God, human-shaped raccoon out of it. He eats _everything_. Like, he’d probably eat the walls if he had enough bar-b-que sauce to pour on them. Fuckin’ black hole for a stomach, that one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go look after my son.”

And then he too hopped through the window.

“Are they aware we have doors?” Logan asked his roommate.

Roman meanwhile was brainstorming ideas. Primarily ones that involved him playing a boombox outside Virgil’s bedroom window 1980’s romance movie style.

“Roman? Are you listening?”

“Maybe I could add a horse? Yes, a horse. I could be on a horse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this chapter. I spent the whole time trying to get them to leave so I could get to other stuff. Finally I just had to make Virgil jump out the window, lmao. I don't feel like this is my best work, but exciting stuff is to come in the next chapter! :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: knives, assault, violence, panic attacks

“Virgil. Babe. What are we doin’?”

“We’re sitting in a car, Rem. I thought that was obvious.”

“Yeah, but why did you wake me at like the ass crack of morning to go _sit in a car_?”

“It wasn’t the morning. It was like five in the afternoon.”

“Um, bitch? Is the sun still shining? That means it’s morning. And Remy is _mucho allergico_.”

“Sorry, _no hablo_ bullshit.”

Remy lowered his shades to give Virgil the full view of his disappointed glare. Virgil stared back unmoved while shoving a whole cookie into his mouth.

Remy snorted and went back to staring out the windshield. “You’ve spent too much time around me. I’ve created a monster.”

Virgil smirked.

“So what are we doing in front of the library of all places?” Remy asked, bored. Virgil hadn’t told him anything when he woke him up, just that he needed to go downtown for something. And since Virgil was banned from driving, he needed Remy to do that.

And now they were parked across the street in view of their local library.

Virgil pulled out a pair of binoculars. He raised them up to his eyes. “We’re learning.”

“Pfft, is this a stakeout? Did you take me on a surprise stakeout? Gurl, I could be watching my soaps right now.”

“C’mon, Remy. I thought this would be right up your alley.”

“Uh, no. Stakeouts are _boring_. You just sit there and stare and wait for something that might not even happen. I can’t believe you woke me up for this. Give me _one_ reason I shouldn’t kick you out of my car and leave you.”

“Don’t you even want to know why we’re here?”

“Puh-lease. Like I don’t already know. Either Roman or Logan are here. That or Mothman.”

“I’ll find that son of a bitch one day.”

“I know you will, hun. But yeah, it’s not like it’s hard to figure out. You’re totally spying on the neighbors.”

“I’m information gathering,” Virgil defended himself. “According to my informant, Logan’s coming to some sort of gathering here tonight. He might be meeting up with other members of his kind. We could potentially uncover a whole coven.”

Remy snickered. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who was this informant of yours?”

“Me.”

“Sounds trustworthy enough. How’d you find out about tonight? I know you haven’t been back over to the neighbors’ since ‘the incident’.” That’s what Virgil had been calling that night he’d fainted and brought dishonor on the whole family.

“Well, you remember how yesterday you told me to mow the lawn and then I didn’t?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Logan came out while I was hiding—I mean, chilling outside. He was saying something to Roman about coming to the library tonight.”

“And you think that he’s meeting up with the rest of his vampire coven?”

“What other reason could there be?” Virgil asked

Remy glanced at the banner above the library front doors that read ‘Poetry Slam Tonight!’.

“You’re right, Virge. I can think of no other reason,” Remy agreed. “A whole coven of vampires. Gee golly whiz, someone call the mayor.”

“We probably shouldn’t risk it. They could be in on it too,” he said seriously.

Remy shook his head. They watched in relative silence for a while, Remy sipping at his thermos and Virgil munching away on some cookies. Some people came, others went. Eventually they recognized Logan’s vehicle pull up. Virgil didn’t know much about cars, but whatever it was looked like it’d be right at home in that Geico commercial where the soccer mom was giving a ride to that little pig who cried “Wee, wee, wee,” all the way home.

“Target spotted,” Virgil hummed in a low tone. The binoculars were quickly yanked away. “Hey!”

“Ooooh, he’s not wearing a tie today,” Remy purred while peering through the binoculars. “And the top button of his shirt isn’t buttoned. Praise.”

“Ew. Stop talking about him as if you’re actually interested in him,” Virgil groaned.

Remy looked away long enough to wiggle his eyebrows at him. Virgil’s stomach dropped lower than his credit score.

“Wait . . . you’re not _actually_ interested in him, are you?”

“What can I say? I love a man who can give a good _suck_.”

Virgil started poking around Remy’s jacket pocket. “Okay, where’s your phone?”

Remy swatted at him. “Hands off the merchandise! You’ve got your own, you don’t need mine.”

“You still have that gospel playlist saved on there from our infiltration mission, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you should listen to it and pray for forgiveness. Even then, it’s probably too late.”

“It’s honestly debatable whether I have a soul anymore or not.”

Virgil made a noise of agreement. Logan had already gone inside, holding something like a folder. It wasn’t much to go on. This might take a while.

Virgil tossed the empty cookie box onto the floorboard. Then he reached into the backseat to grab another box.

Remy eyed him. “How many of those do you have?”

“Just don’t look in the backseat.”

Remy looked in the backseat.

“What the _fuck_ , Virgil?”

There might have been about twenty boxes of girl scout cookies back there.

No Virgil didn’t have a problem.

“You can’t put a limit on happiness,” Virgil explained.

“Yeah, but you _can_ put a limit on your bank card. How much did all of those cost?”

Virgil mumbled something. Remy told him to repeat himself, so he said louder, “About a hundred dollars?”

“ _VIRGIL ANTHONY STORM_ , YOU DID _NOT_!”

“It’s not my fault! I was going to walk right on by, but those girl scouts jumped in front of me and— and— they made _eye contact_.”

“Jesus Christ, Virgil. Your inability to say ‘no’ to anyone other than me is really an issue we shoulda addressed in therapy already.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“We have _bills_ to pay, you _doorknob_.”

Oh. They were getting to the part where Remy called him by inanimate objects. He must have been really mad.

Remy held up a finger like he wanted to say more but physically couldn’t find the will to do it. Instead, he pulled out his phone and opened the gospel playlist.

“. . . but why?” Virgil asked.

“Because you should start praying for forgiveness—AH! GOD ALMIGHTY AMEN!”

A knock had sounded at the driver’s window, startling them both. Remy turned and rolled down the window. Roman’s face bent down into view.

“Fancy seeing you two here—”

“ _Glory be to our great God~_ ” Remy’s phone sang.

“. . .”

An awkward silence fell over them save for the holy hymns.

Remy shut off his phone. He cleared his throat.

“So, have you heard about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

“The name rings a bell,” Roman answered.

He glanced over at Virgil a few times as if the emo could explain what was going on, but Virgil was too busy hiding behind the box of cookies and trying to unlock his untapped chameleon powers. What he wouldn’t give to crawl into the sewer right now and live out the rest of his life like the cryptid he was meant to be.

“Wait, are those samoas? Those are my favorites!”

As if Virgil needed another reason to swoon over this man.

“Wanna buy like twenty boxes?” Remy asked and Virgil smacked his arm. “Oh, who am I kidding babe? Like anyone would be _stupid_ or _irresponsible_ enough to buy _twenty fucking boxes_ of girl scout cookies. Am I right?”

Virgil exited the car. He muttered an excuse about doing some recon.

“Hey, hey Virgey baby. While you’re busy avoiding confrontation, can you go to the coffee shop down the street and get me a drink? Kay, thanks.”

“You already have a drink,” Virgil complained through the still-open door.

Remy waved his thermos. The liquid inside barely made any sloshing sounds. “This bitch empty.”

Virgil huffed and slammed the car door shut with a little more force than necessary. He went to leave and nearly walked into Roman.

“When did you . . .?” Virgil asked, glancing to the other side of the car where the man had originally been standing.

Roman was looking at him in the same way a child looks at their parents, all bright-eyed and naïve when they ask, “Is Santa Claus real?”

“Would you like some company? I could go for a coffee myself,” Roman offered.

Oh come on. This just wasn’t fair. Like Virgil was really going to tell Little Timmy that Santa Claus was just a fat man in a suit and Christmas had become nothing more than a capitalist marketing scam.

Okay, so Virgil would totally do that. But Roman’s attention was focused on him, and Virgil was experiencing _feelings_.

Eugh.

“Don’t you have to . . .?” Virgil waved in the direction of the library, assuming that Roman was here to meet up with Logan.

“It won’t start for a while longer. I’ve got time,” Roman assured him, charming smile in place and blinding. “Shall we?”

Virgil didn’t answer. He just started walking. That way Roman could decide for himself whether he wanted to follow.

God, maybe Remy was right. Maybe he really did have a problem saying ‘no’.

Roman caught up with him easily and walked along beside him.

_Don’t make it awkward, don’t make it awkward, don’t make it awkward_.

Somehow, no matter how many times he repeated it in his head, that usually never worked.

“So are you guys here for the slam?” Roman asked conversationally.

Virgil snorted. “What, and read crappy poetry like a nerd?”

“. . . I’m going to be reading tonight.”

Oh. Oh fuck. Abort mission. Walk into oncoming traffic. Do _something_!

“I mean, that’s awesome!” Virgil recovered with far too much enthusiasm. He had a feeling his face looked like the Nicolas Cage meme.

“. . .”

“. . . yeah, sorry, I’ve never been a big fan of putting yourself out in front of a crowd to be judged, or watching other people do it. Makes me way too anxious.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

“It’s the anxiety.”

Roman chuckled, and for once Virgil didn’t feel like he was being laughed _at_. He allowed himself to smirk back.

“I don’t know how people just . . . _willingly_ put themselves out there like that,” Virgil continued. His shoes scuffed along the concrete of the sidewalk, one of them untied but he didn’t want to stop and fix it. “So many things could go wrong and they’d just end up embarrassing themselves. How doesn’t that scare them?”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Roman quoted, but Virgil wasn’t convinced and he could tell. He leaned closer towards Virgil. Their arms brushed briefly. “Want to know a secret, Dark Vader?”

Virgil couldn’t function properly to speak at the moment. Roman had leaned in close enough that Virgil caught a whiff of his cologne and he struggled to ignore the vivid mental image of just burying his face in Roman’s shoulder and breathing him in. He merely nodded, thoughts consumed with spice and woods and gay.

“I get nervous all the time,” Roman admitted, smile turning a smidge sheepish.

Virgil thought he was being teased now. “What, you? Really?”

“Don’t look so skeptical, Doubt-ton Abbey. Ask any experienced performer like myself. No matter how many times you go out on stage, it’s still intimidating to take that first step out from behind the curtain.”

“. . . do you . . . perform often? I thought you were a scriptwriter.”

“I am, but my love of the script came after my love for the stage.” Roman clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his face towards the dusky sky. The last rays of sunlight made him look . . . regal. “I started out in school and community theaters. I wanted to perform, put on a good show, be in that spotlight and take the final bow to an audience’s applause.”

“So . . . what changed?” Virgil prompted. He usually wasn’t one for prying, but Roman was getting lost in the memories now and seemed open enough to talking about it.

Roman gave a little shrug. “Nothing really. I simply grew to love _every_ part of it. I began dabbling in all the aspects that brought the written word to life, all the processes of the production. And then I realized that the script was the foundation, where it all began. I wanted to write something worthy enough to have all these people clambering to recreate it, to witness it, to praise it.”

“Is that where you and Logan met?”

He laughed, deep and hearty. “Oh heavens no. We met in middle school and we absolutely _hated_ each other.”

That took Virgil aback. He absent-mindedly let Roman guide him across the street after the flow of traffic stopped momentarily. With the way his neighbors acted, Virgil couldn’t imagine them hating each other. Maybe bickering a little, like he did with Remy. Virgil said as much to Roman.

Roman chuckled again. “You should tell Microsoft Nerd that the next time you see him. It’d probably actually get a laugh out of him. No, me and him, we’ve gotten into some impressive arguments over the years. Fist fights even. We’re both too proud and stubborn for our own good. But we always work it out. I can’t imagine not having him in my life at this point. He’s my best friend.”

They had arrived at the coffee shop. Roman held the door open for Virgil. Virgil wanted to make a comment about how he could open his own door. Of course, he said nothing and scuttled on in. He was too invested in the conversation anyway.

He queued up at the back of the busy line. “How’d you guys become friends? If you hated each other so much. Why’d you even hate each other?”

“Well, Logan studied all the time—was a big nerd even back then. And I myself hardly opened a textbook. And yet we were both at the top of our class. It infuriated him so much that he tried to accuse me of cheating more than once. Teachers learned fast not to sit us next to each other. But we got into a fight one day at school, and our parents were called.”

“Oof. Bet that ended well.”

“It did actually,” Roman grinned widely. “Our parents ended up forcing us to hang out a lot with each other until we came to an understanding. At some point we realized we were a lot alike and the fights drastically lessened.”

Virgil nodded. He didn’t know what else to say to that. They moved up a step in the line. The two older women in front of them were talking about their jobs. The place was kind of crowded honestly. Virgil hoped Roman didn’t notice the way he inched closer to him to get away from everyone else.

“What about you and Remy?”

“Hm?” Virgil glanced up. Roman’s face was closer than he expected, but neither of them backed away.

Wow . . . his eyes were really brown. Like, a nice brown. Not a shit brown.

“You and Remy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two were related.”

Oh. Roman wanted Virgil to talk about personal stuff.

“Nah, he’s an alien.”

“An alien?”

“Yeah. You know how all the kids are saying they’re gonna storm Area 51 nowadays? Well, I did it before it was cool.”

As you can see, Virgil was really bad at personal stuff.

“And I assume you rescued him from that awful government facility and took him in?”

“Yep.”

“From what he mentioned to Logan and I, he was the one that took _you_ in.”

Virgil had never really understood the phrase “sweating bullets” until now.

He averted his gaze, choosing to stare at a giant, ornate clock on the wall. “Whatever he said, it’s lies. He’s a pathological liar.”

“Virgil,” Roman said, and it was the gentle way he said it that had Virgil unable to stay turned away. He glanced back and Roman’s face was more understanding than it had any right to be. “I understand if I’m overstepping boundaries. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know I’m not entitled to your life story. But if you would like to share it, I’d like to listen.”

This man . . .

This smooth motherfucker . . .

Virgil narrowed his eyes at him. “How are you single?”

It was only after Virgil said it that he realized that Roman had never shown any signs of being single or otherwise. In fact, for all Virgil knew Roman was straight.

Oh god, what if he was straight and had a girlfriend?

Virgil would probably go home and cry into his pillow. No joke.

Roman smiled and his gaze ran over Virgil’s face in a way that made his dead-pale skin warm. “I’m working on that.”

Critical fucking hit.

There was no need to even read into that, right? That was full-on flirting, right? Roman was talking about him, right?

For the love of MCR, someone say right.

Neither one of them said anything for a time after that. They eased up the line until they reached the counter. Roman ordered his drink. Virgil ordered his own afterwards.

He ordered just one drink.

Roman blinked at him. “You’re not going to get Remy one?”

“Like he needs it,” Virgil muttered. “All he does is nag at me. He’d probably be better off if I just didn’t come back. He’d probably be happy.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“Like you know.”

Roman’s mouth was pressed in a thin-line. “. . . you didn’t see the way he acted when you fainted the other day.”

“Yeah, he was on his phone.”

“Not until you were waking up. When you collapsed, he came running in to help you. He didn’t leave your side. Would barely even let Logan or I help. He’s very protective of you, you know.”

Oh.

Ohhh.

Remy? His Remy did that? Remy who cackled at drama and always acted so flippantly?

Virgil couldn’t picture him worrying so much. Worrying over _him_. It’s not like they were really family after all.

“What kind of drink does he like?” Roman encouraged.

“Pumpkin spiced latte,” Virgil mumbled. He cleared his throat and said louder to the cashier. “Can you add a pumpkin spiced latte to that?”

They waited for their drinks and left when their order had been completed. The bell on the door jingled as they stepped outside. A hazy orange seeped over the horizon. A chilly breeze swept through, warning that night was fast in falling.

“He caught me trespassing,” Virgil said into the quiet. Roman didn’t interrupt, sensing the shift in mood. Virgil ran his thumb across the shop’s label on the latte cup. “I was just a stupid kid with nowhere to go. He found me digging in his trash. I thought he was going to beat me up or call the cops.”

Cars passed by. A person ambled up to the coffee shop and they shifted out of the way so he could enter. Virgil started walking back down the sidewalk with Roman beside him.

“He didn’t though. I tried to run, and you know what he did? Fucking pulled me inside by the ear and sat me down at the table. He said I was filthy and stank, and then he made me some food, just a bowl of beef tips and rice. And he wouldn’t let me leave the table until I’d eaten the whole bowl. And afterwards he took me to the bathroom, shoved some clean clothes at me, and told me to get clean and don’t even think about trying to squirm out the window.”

“So you stayed,” Roman surmised, voice thoughtful.

Virgil nodded. “I didn’t really have any place else to go. I stayed there that first night, and I kept expecting him to kick me out or call the cops. I was on edge, ready to run. But it never happened, and then years went by. And now it’s been ten years and I’m still with him.”

“Remy said you were about fourteen when he took you in?”

“Yeah.” Virgil hoped this wasn’t heading where he thought it was. If Roman was about to ask about what happened . . .

Even if Virgil really liked the guy, there were some things he didn’t talk about. Not even to Remy. As far as Virgil was concerned, he didn’t have a life before he was fourteen.

“How did that work?” Roman asked. “Forgive me, but I can’t help but be curious. Wasn’t it difficult for Remy to get custody of you?”

“He never really did, legally anyway. No one was looking for me too hard. And no one asked Remy too many questions about me. He’d just bullshit like he does and everyone assumed I was like his cousin or nephew or something. When I turned eighteen, it didn’t really matter by then.”

At eighteen, he thought Remy would surely kick him out then too. But that never happened either.

“He cares a lot about you,” Roman stated.

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything that goes on in that crazy head of his. Maybe he just likes to keep me around because I’m entertaining and he’s bored?”

“You know that’s not true.”

To that, Virgil had no answer.

“Let’s go back to you and Logan,” Virgil said, not trying to hide the fact he was changing the subject. “What’s the stupidest fight you guys have gotten into?" 

Roman let it go easily. He smiled. “So, have you noticed that Logan has this habit of saying ‘figuratively’ even when he doesn’t need to?”

“He does?”

“Yeah, you really gotta hang around him more often.”

“Sorry, I like my blood to stay bottled up in my body, thanks.”

Roman snorted. “Anyway, so this one time when we were in college . . .”

The conversation ebbed and flowed from there. By the time they made it back to the library, it was fully dark and the parking lot was packed with cars. Virgil hesitated in front of the library doors with Roman.

Roman smiled at him. “Sure you don’t want to come in? You and Remy could come watch some nerds do their thing.”

Virgil smirked. “Maybe next time. We’re probably gonna head on out.”

“Break my heart,” Roman teased. He gave an exaggerated bow. “Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again”

“You’re so dramatic,” Virgil hid his smile behind his coffee. He might have giggled a little too, but he’d die before admitting it.

Roman winked. “You know you love it.”

Yeah, Virgil kinda did.

He got ahold of himself, took a step backward. “So . . . here I go. Leaving, and all that.” The way Roman watched him made him want to second guess himself. Maybe he could go inside, have a good time.

But no, he should go.

He turned around to walk away, only to be stopped by a hand on his elbow.

“Virgil, wait—”

Virgil glanced back. Roman had bridged the gap, his mouth open like he wanted to say more. Shadows fell over his face, the light over the library’s doors shining like a halo around him. His eyelids hovered at half-mast, hooded and searching Virgil’s expression. Virgil unconsciously wetted his lips with a swipe of tongue and he didn’t miss the way Roman’s eyes caught the movement.

Heart hammering in his chest, Virgil felt lightheaded. If Roman wasn’t holding his elbow right now, he’d probably drift away. His feet were rooted to the spot. His breath caught in his throat as Roman bent his head to make up for the height difference.

Lips pressed against his cheek and Virgil’s eyelids fluttered closed as Roman’s presence overwhelmed him. Again he felt the urge to lean into Roman’s body, to soak in that heady scent.

Roman pulled back and Virgil only now realized that he had a hand resting on his other cheek, fingers caressing Virgil’s cheekbone.

“I enjoyed being with you today,” Roman told him earnestly. “Perhaps we can get coffee again and make an actual date out of it?”

Roman didn’t wait for an answer. He slowly backed away, allowing Virgil to breathe properly again. He watched Virgil fondly as he walked backwards. Virgil stayed there until he’d entered the building.

Virgil could hear the gay choir singing hallelujah.

Cartwheels? Fuck, he felt like he could yeet a car at this point. No table left unflipped. Take down the powerlines while he’s at it. Who needs that water tower over there anyway? With as much energy coursing through his system, he could fight the sun.

Huh. Who knew that a kiss on the cheek would make him this destructively-minded?

What would a kiss on the _lips_ do? Would they even have a planet afterwards?

Virgil was smiling from ear to ear and couldn’t bring it in himself to care. Roman _liked_ him. Roman wanted to _date_ him. His gorgeous, wonderful, single, not-straight neighbor.

He had to tell Remy. If Remy wasn’t still mad about the cookies, maybe they could go home and gossip all night about this new development. They could like, paint each other’s nails and do face masks and shit. And Remy could give him advice on how to not fuck it up. Virgil could really use that advice.

Giddy, Virgil sauntered back across the street to the neighboring parking lot they had parked in. This lot was filled up too. From the looks of it, this poetry slam thing was bigger than he thought it was.

Remy was standing outside of his car, fiddling with the door. It was too dark over here to tell, but it looked like he had locked himself out.

“Yo, you better not still be mad because I’ve got your drink—”

His head whipped up at Virgil’s approach.

There were no shades. This wasn’t Remy.

Virgil stopped by the car’s headlight, confused. It was just enough time for the stranger to stand up straight and pull out a knife.

Virgil sucked in a breath, eyes snapping wide. He dropped the drinks without a second thought. The noise of them splattering across the concrete was deaf to the ringing alarm in his ears. His hands went up in defense and he stumbled backwards. A piercing twinge in his ankle had him falling backwards as he tripped over his untied shoelace.

The stranger, unperturbed, stalked forward with his knife at the ready. Virgil scurried back, little rocks and debris scraping against the palms of his hands.

“Please, I’m sorry, please!” Virgil begged.

The eyes above him were bulging and boiling with anger. A strong scent wafted off of him, musty and sharp like alcohol.

Virgil was going to die. He was going to die all because some random drunk guy was trying to steal Remy’s car. Remy who wasn’t even here. No one was here. Everyone had already gone inside for the event. He could probably scream and no one would come looking for him.

“ _Please!_ ” Virgil whimpered out. The man snatched at the front of his hoodie and pulled him forward. Virgil could already feel how the knife would sink into his gut, over and over. How he’d bleed out, alone and terrified. Tears welled in his eyes.

The man’s hold broke as he something yanked him back. A sickening crunch sounded and the knife immediately dropped. The man hollered in agony.

Virgil watched, breaths bordering on hyperventilating. The man’s body rose into the air, up and up until he was held directly over the person who lifted him. The moment seemed to freeze in time before it all rushed back in. Virgil’s savior _launched_ the drunk man across the parking lot. He could hear metallic thuds as the body made impact against cars over there.

“Keep your _filthy_ fucking hands _off_ him!” the person growled. Literally, Virgil had never heard a human’s voice so distorted. They stood there, slightly hunched forward in an aggressive pose, leather clad arms held wide and ready for anything.

Virgil made a noise, a small hiccupping sob. The person whirled on him, but he had already figured out who it was.

Remy, his sunglasses missing.

Remy whose eyes were burning gold against black sclera.

Virgil shivered hard on the ground. The drunken man didn’t come back (might not ever come back), but that’s not why he was scared now.

Remy’s growls faded, his mouth unworking itself from where his teeth—no, _fangs_ had been bared.

“Virgey baby?” Remy asked more softly, a low gravelly tone sticking to the words that he couldn’t shake.

Virgil stiffened. He’d never felt more paralyzed.

Remy’s attention didn’t waver from him. He took a step towards him. Then another.

“Virgey, honey, it’s okay—”

Remy reached out for him.

All the muscles in Virgil’s body unlocked at once. His flight-or-fight mechanism kicked in, and his body chose to get him away, far far far from the danger. As far as he could. He needed to find safety, people he could trust, actual _people_.

Virgil didn’t remember rising to his feet. He just knew his legs were sprinting as fast as he could back towards the library, twisted ankle be damned. He flung the door open, uncaring how loudly it crashed against the brick wall.

People inside looked up at him as he dashed inside. People were milling about in pairs and groups, talking and drinking from cups, smiling and having a nice time. A crowd of people, a sea of faces he could get safely lost in.

Out of the faces, a bespectacled one made eye contact with him. He was standing there, talking to a couple of people Virgil didn’t recognize. He cut himself off from whatever he’d been saying.

“Virgil?” Logan called.

Virgil was already barreling towards him, throwing his arms around him. Logan grunted and placed his hands on Virgil’s back, but he didn’t push him away.

“Virgil? What’s the matter? You’re shaking . . .”

Virgil hid his face in his shoulder and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all you people who've been saying that Remy's the vampire...….there ya go, ya got me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Descriptions of a panic attack.

“So, you got a name? Or were you really raised by raccoons?”

Remy didn’t expect an answer at this point. The teen sat across the table from him, slowly nibbling at the leftovers Remy had warmed up for him. He didn’t look Remy in the eye. Hardly looked at him at all actually. Head bowed, he stared down into the bowl.

The kid hadn’t said a word.

Rude much? Remy went to the trouble of feeding him, and not even a thank you?

Maybe he just needed some prompting. Lucky for him, Remy was a stubborn bastard.

“If you’re not gonna give me a name hun, that means I can give you whatever nickname I want.”

The kid glanced at him. That was about it.

Remy tsked. “You should be honored, really. Not everyone gets a nickname from _moi_.”

Not that most people _liked_ his nicknames, but the kid didn’t need to know that.

A rumble of thunder vibrated the house. Remy glanced out the window. Leaves danced chaotically through the air, the sky darkening as a storm rolled in.

“Better be glad I was nice enough to bring you inside before it started raining. It looks nasty out there.”

The skinny kid pushed the spoon around in the gravy drenched rice. His clothes were ragged and stained with grass, dirt, and who knew what else. Plus his long hair hung past his shoulders, limp and greasy and no doubt consumed by horrific split ends.

“You know how cold it is out there?” Remy asked rhetorically. “Colder than a witch’s tit. If you would have been caught in the rain, as bony as you are? Even a raccoon can freeze, ya know.”

The kid shrugged. Like he had already accepted that death was inevitable and shit just happens.

Jesus Christ, Remy didn’t care for kids, but they were supposed to be bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“Jaded is so not a good look on you, gurl” Remy said sadly, because this was some sad shit.

The kid narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, like he didn’t understand something. He shrugged and ducked his head again.

Remy snapped his fingers at him. “Hey, how’s that food gonna nourish your scrawny butt if all you do is push it around? Eat up, kid. Or are you saying I’m a bad cook? Because I’ll have you know, I’m a _decent_ cook, thank you very much.”

The kid looked at him again, big soulful brown eyes standing out against his starkly pale face. He blinked once and returned to the bowl, but this time he took an actual bite instead of a little nibble.

“Like when’s the last time you even ate? I’ll throw a cheeseburger next at you if I have to. I’m surprised you didn’t blow away in the wind.”

As the kid ate, Remy continued to chatter, hoping beyond hope that the timid thing would let his guard down and give him some clue about what the fuck Remy was supposed to do with him. It was beyond obvious that something or someone hurt this kid badly on a deep level, and Remy was not the person to fix that.

But he could offer him some food and warmth.

It was the human thing to do.

* * *

Virgil could feel the world slipping between his fingers. 

Logan wasn’t the best comforter, to be absolutely honest. He was stiff and didn’t know where to place his hands. He patted awkwardly at Virgil as he talked Virgil through his panic. If nothing else, he knew what to say to ground him, his voice a steady cadence.

And he didn’t push Virgil away as he clung onto him for dear life. That was something.

How did it even come to this?

Virgil would later be mortified. However, in the moment, he gladly held onto Logan and ignored anyone else’s attempts to help him or get him to talk. Roman was there. He stood right next to them, shielding Virgil from their watchful audience’s gaze as much as he could. His presence was a balm to Virgil’s frazzled nerves. The reassurances coaxing Virgil to . . . what, calm down? Move away from Logan? Virgil refused to release his death grip on Logan. Virgil thought he might die if he was forced to let go right now, but the man allowed it.

Huh, maybe Virgil should apologize for all those vampire accusations.

Virgil giggled at the irony of it all.

No wait, that was just more crying.

“Feel as my chest expands when I breathe in,” Logan was saying. “Match your breaths with mine. That’s it, take as deep of a breath as you can. Now let it out, gentle now. You are okay. You are surrounded by people who wish to help you. You are safe.”

Maybe Roman was right. Virgil really should hang around Logan more often. He could do wonders for his anxiety.

“Whatever happened, we are here for you, darling,” Roman promised in a hushed voice. His hand rested on Virgil’s shoulder, thumb caressing up and down in a soothing manner. Virgil twitched minutely, not knowing if he appreciated the touch or not at the moment.

“Virgil?” a new voice said.

Through the heaving breaths, Virgil’s erratic thought processes zeroed in on the newcomer.

Patton?

“Oh honey,” Patton said sympathetically.

They were coworkers, him and Patton. He wore his cardigan for a change rather than having it tied around his shoulders. Virgil had never seen him wear it properly before. It was strange, like his shoulders looked too bare or less broad. Weird. Virgil felt weird.

Virgil mouthed words at him but failed to speak through his freak out.

“He seems to be having a panic attack,” Logan murmured, continuing to pat repetitively on Virgil’s back.

“He gets those sometimes,” Patton said, and Virgil wondered if he should be mad at Patton for disclosing such information.

“You know Virgil?” Roman asked. Virgil couldn’t read his expression exactly. He felt oddly separated from everyone at the moment.

“Oh, we uh—we work together here, at the library. My name’s Patton, but I guess now’s not really the time for introductions,” he gave a regretful little smile. He focused on Virgil. “Hey Virge, kiddo? Wanna go someplace quieter?”

Virgil wanted to snort. It was a _library_. It was already quiet. That’s why Virgil even applied to work here in the first place. And now he was having a mental breakdown at his place of work on his off day. Better than while he was working, he supposed.

His thoughts continued to bounce around as Patton led the others out of the main room. Although Patton had only worked at the library with Virgil for about three months, Virgil kinda maybe considered him a friend. He must have been here to help host the event tonight. Virgil had of course declined. Or he probably did anyway. In all honesty, he had forgotten the library was putting on the poetry slam until he overheard Logan talk about it yesterday.

Oh, they were in another room now. It was one of the smaller side rooms reserved for special classes, usually for little kid groups. Last week they had a snake wrangler come in and teach them about some different types of snakes, even brought some live ones with him. Virgil had been just as excited as the kids. Snakes were really cool.

“Virge?”

Virgil blinked away the memories. He had three pairs of eyes on him, all of them asking questions.

How was he supposed to explain when Virgil himself didn’t know the answers?

“I’m gonna go get you some water, okay?” Patton explained. “Think you’ll be okay for a minute?”

_Not really_.

Virgil nodded anyway.

Patton left.

Oh, Virgil had stopped hyperventilating. That’s weird, that he didn’t notice. He just felt tired and shaky now. He rested his head heavily on Logan’s shoulders. He stared at Roman who offered him a smile.

“Tell me you at least threw another water gun at someone.”

That was funny. Virgil thought it was funny, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to form a smile. His whole face felt hot and wet from crying. He wanted to wipe off the tear tracks but his arms didn’t want to cooperate either.

How fucking useless could he get?

“I don’t think levity is appropriate at the moment,” Logan admonished.

“Well good, because I’m not floating anywhere.”

“Not levitation, you stupid— I _know_ you know what ‘levity’ means.”

“Prove it.”

“You used it in one of your poems for tonight!”

“Pretty sure it’s short for ‘levitation’. I know my spells.”

“Now you’re just referencing _leviosa_ from the _Harry Potter_ books.”

That was Virgil’s favorite book series. He hardly ever mentioned it, not wanting to seem childish for it. But his put-together neighbors had read the series? That made Virgil feel not so bad about his likes. Maybe they could talk about their favorite characters and such after Virgil finished having his meltdown over finding out his longtime roommate was a creature of the night.

A sharp pang rattled inside the hollow of his chest. Virgil had never felt so adrift.

He reached out towards Roman, but his hand hovered uncertainly. Luckily, Roman cut-off his silly argument and quickly noticed. Virgil had the feeling that the argument was just an excuse to lighten the mood anyway.

Roman took Virgil’s hand in both of his. The skin felt a little cooler than Virgil’s. If Roman placed his hand against Virgil’s forehead, he’d probably close his eyes in relief.

“Remy . . .” Virgil uttered.

“Remy?” Roman asked, leaning in closer to hear. “Is he outside? Logan said he came in earlier.”

“Yes, we were talking,” Logan agreed, his tone of voice not giving Virgil any clues on any subject matter. “He came in for a bit but left some minutes ago to meet you at his car.”

“Do you want me to go get him?” Roman asked, eager to help.

A gleaming knife.

Glowing eyes.

The body thudding against metal, limp as a ragdoll.

Virgil shook his head frantically. “N—no, don’t. I—don’t, I don’t—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Roman soothed. He brought Virgil’s hand up and held it against his chest, brushing over the fingers. “I won’t leave you if you don’t want me to.”

Virgil half laughed, half sobbed. That so wasn’t the point, but this idiot was too sweet.

“I got it!” Patton cheered as he came back into the room. He waved a water bottle. Virgil’s mouth felt dry just looking at it.

Patton helped him drink without getting any water on himself. His hands were still kinda shaking, which was so stupid. He finds out one tinsy tiny secret his roommate had been hiding for years—like the fact that he’s a supernatural monster—and Virgil can’t hold himself together? What kind of self-proclaimed monster hunter was he?

Oh shit, did this mean he had to fight Remy now? Had Remy been keeping Virgil around all this time as some backup blood pack? How many people had Remy killed? All those nights Remy disappeared for hours on end, what horrific things was he out there doing?

Logan was asking Patton if he’d go outside and get Remy. Virgil almost didn’t tune in back in time.

“No, don’t!”

They all stared at him.

How was he supposed to convey to them that it was dangerous outside without sounding like a crazy person?

Virgil felt like a crazy person.

“Why not, Virge?” Patton asked gently. “Did something happen?”

Virgil hesitated. He couldn’t look any of them in the eyes. He stared at a faint stain on the wall. He swallowed and nodded his head.

“What happened?”

“I um… I—” Virgil swallowed again. “Got to the car . . . and . . . I—there was . . . he um—I—I dropped the coffee, and—and, I was scared and Remy—he . . . he . . .”

“Did you get in a fight?” Roman asked, eyes squinting as he attempted to decipher Virgil’s stilted speech.

Virgil couldn’t answer either way. There was a fight, yeah. But . . .

“Was Remy mad?” Patton prodded.

Virgil shuffled back from Logan, needing some space. Logan let him go wordlessly. Virgil rubbed his arms up and down. He’d never seen Remy so angry.

“Virgil?” Patton asked.

“Hm?”

“Did Remy hurt you?”

Virgil’s mouth dropped open.

Why . . . why would he ask that?

He stared right at Patton, eyes blown wide and heart hammering in confusion. Patton looked so serious. What the fuck? What the _fuck_?

Remy would _never_ —

Would he?

Oh god, would he?

But he hadn’t! He’d _saved_ Virgil. If Remy hadn’t shown up, the guy would have…he had a knife, he had been _right on him_. Virgil could still smell the stink of his breath as he’d hovered over him.

And Remy had appeared out of nowhere and made the man scream in agony and had thrown him away.

Was the guy even alive?

Did it matter? If Remy had killed him? Had Remy meant to?

Had Remy done it because he actually cared for Virgil? Sure, Remy had let him stay with him all these years, but he never really showed much towards Virgil other than exasperation or amusement.

Why in the first place did Remy take Virgil in?

Why hadn’t he _told_ Virgil? Why did it all have to come spilling out tonight?

Why couldn’t things just go back to the way they were before?

“No,” Virgil answered Patton. Then more strongly, he repeated. “No, no he didn’t.”

“But you did have some sort of confrontation?” Logan questioned.

Virgil hugged himself tightly and gazed at the floor. “I panicked, I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, kiddo.” Patton tried to touch Virgil’s shoulder but he couldn’t hold back a small flinch. Patton pulled his hand back and smiled to show that he wasn’t offended. “If you’re scared, you’re scared."

“I’m sure whatever conflict came between the two of you can be resolved with time and determination!” Roman affirmed. “And a sword!”

Logan raised a brow. “A sword?”

“There’s not a lot of problems I’ve come across in my life that couldn’t be dealt with by way of sword.”

Virgil wondered if he could ask Roman to let him borrow his sword. For security purposes.

“Do you really own a sword?” Patton asked, easily distracted.

“Am I not a prince?” Roman grinned.

Logan cleared his throat. “I apologize. Roman suffers from delusions of grandeur and often makes ridiculous claims. He is most certainly not a prince.”

“. . . but does he really have a sword?”

Logan sighed. “Regrettably.”

“It’s pointy,” Roman said proudly.

“Of course it’s pointy, Roman. Have you ever encountered a sword that is _not_ pointy? Futhermore—”

“Guys?” Virgil piped up.

They all shut up and looked at him.

God Virgil was exhausted.

“Not that . . . not that I’m not, um . . . enjoying this conversation,” Virgil began. He wasn’t really sure why he interrupted in the first place. Only that the longer they talked, the more Virgil felt like he was fading out. He wasn’t sure what he wanted right now, but he obviously needed something.

“Right then,” Logan cleared his throat. He fixed his tie and stood straighter. “Roman’s not entirely wrong in saying that time and determination will aid you. More than that, communication is key in any relationship when discrepancies arise. Talking with Remy can resolve any issues between you.”

Virgil immediately shook his head. “No, I—I can’t. I don’t want to see him.”

“And that’s perfectly acceptable as well. It’s important that the both of you ‘cool off’ as it were before reconvening and opening up a discussion in a composed manner.”

“Wow, you put that really well!” Patton complimented. “He’s right, Virgil. If you’re this anxious maybe you fellas need to take a break.”

Along the way, a miscommunication had occurred. Virgil recognized that.

But he didn’t know how to bring up what he had seen, not after they were trying so hard to help him.

And what Patton had said still stuck in his head.

_Did he hurt me?_

Virgil rubbed tiredly at his chest.

_Maybe not intentionally, but yeah, he did_.

* * *

Virgil didn’t go home that night. 

Did anyone really expect otherwise?

Mr. I-can’t-deal-with-confrontation actually deal with confrontation?

Virgil had always been better at running away.

Patton offered to let him stay at his place that night. Roman threw in his offer to, but that was way too close to home. Virgil wanted absolutely no chance of running into Remy until he could figure out what he was going to do about everything.

He agreed to go to Patton’s after the poetry slam. No sense in cutting things short because of his freak out, right? Virgil didn’t need to be babied.

“I’ll be fine until after.” Virgil shrugged. “Besides, you’re supposed to stay ‘til the end, Pat.”

The uncertainty didn’t leave Patton’s face. “Well, if it gets to be too much, just let me know and we can skip out early.”

Virgil saluted him. “Will do, Pops.”

God, he was trying too hard to act normal, wasn’t he?

It seemed to convince the others enough. Virgil sat amongst the small sea of metal chairs provided for the audience while Patton ran off and helped orchestrate the slam. Both Roman and Logan performed their own original poetry.

Virgil tried to listen to them, he really did. It was the least he could do. But his thoughts were plagued by dread and he only caught snippets. He’d have to ask them later about their poems to make up for it. From the audience’s reactions, they were pretty talented.

Before they left, Roman slipped Virgil his number.

“If you need me,” Roman said. “Or Logan. But mostly me though.”

Virgil snorted. “If you wanted me to text you Princey, all you had to do was ask.”

“I would have, but you see, I get terribly flustered around cute guys.”

Virgil struggled for a witty response. Flirting wasn’t his forte on the best of days and he still felt the exhausting after effects of his earlier panic attack.

“Virgil,” Roman said, tone shifting from flirting. It caught Virgil’s attention that he used his name instead of the usual nicknames or pet names. “Things will work out between you and Remy. I know it. And if he’s still being a thorn in your side about it later, you can call on me.” He grinned. “I shall be your sword. Not so much shield, I haven’t gotten one of those. Never needed one. It’s much easier to whack at your problems before they get the chance to hit you.”

“You’re rambling.”

“My bad.”

“It’s alright. I um . . . I do it too, ya know.”

Roman gave him a fond smile. He took Virgil’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Virgil blushed knowing that there were still plenty of people lingering in the library after the slam had ended.

“Text me!” Roman called as he dashed away. He met up with Logan who had been waiting for him and together they left.

Patton approached and clapped Virgil on the shoulder. “Well, let’s get this party unstarted!”

Virgil helped clean up as all the slam-goers shuffled out. He didn’t mind no matter how much Patton told him to take it easy. It was nice to feel useful.

They closed down the library and left with the last group of people. Most of the cars were gone from the parking lot by now.

More importantly, so was Remy’s car.

Virgil saw neither him nor the guy with the knife.

Virgil didn’t want to think about why that was.


End file.
